A Stand Of Defiance
by ACsurfgal
Summary: When Altair's reputation is threatend by a young street urchin, desperate to become an assassin, he is left with only one option: Assassinate the boy. But when the boy learns to kill, he proves a match fit enough even for the great assassin himself.
1. Chapter 1

Ok, so this is my first fan fiction so although I do appreciate constructive comments, I would like to ask for you to be nice when reviewing. Hope you enjoy the story.

* * *

Altair's eyes were focused on the target. Three months of pick pocketing, interrogating and killing had led to this moment. He was an Assassin; he wasn't going to mess up. Pausing for a moment he glanced behind him, checking for the telltale armored helms of the guards in the crowd, before following his target into a side street. It was almost deserted, save for a young street urchin and a drunk. The drunk was leaning heavily on the boy's shoulders, and it was clear the boy was having trouble holding him up.

The words of the child drifted over to him, "Next time, I'm going to leave you there to die, old man, it's what you deserve". The drunk only groaned in response, and leaned more heavily on the boy, the boy struggled under the weight for a moment then seemed to steady himself. As the Target passed the pair, however, the boy tripped and fell, causing the drunk to land at the Targets feet, with the boy sprawled over the drunken mans body.

Altair watched as the Target made a disgusted face, and viciously kicked the child in the gut. The boy didn't even wince. Only lifted himself carefully from the ground and stared down the Target, Altair was to far away to see the look on the boy's face, but it was clear that it had an effect as the Target almost flinched under the child's gaze.

The target looked away, and began to turn Altair's way. By the time he had fully turned around, Altair was standing in front of him. His blade wet with blood.

The Target gave a moan, and clasped his hands to his neck, where blood spurted furiously. Altair stepped back, so that it did not dirty his clothing. As his eyes drifted down, he saw the boy, eyes hard and penetrating, staring up at him. Altair frowned. What kind of child doesn't even flinch when he sees death in front of him? What life does this child live?

Altair knew that the boy was likely a victim of beatings, he had seen so many young boy's and girls die at the hands of drunken men and guards, but this boy was different, there was a look of defiance in his eyes. And even though his physical strength looked small, it was obvious that the boy had a cunning mind on him.

The Assassin watched carefully as the young child dusted himself off and stood up silently. Then after holding his gaze for a moment, backed away slowly.

"Aren't you forgetting your friend," Altair asked, motioning to the drunk lying on the ground in his own vomit and the targets blood.

The boy stopped walking away from him and turned slowly, a grin on his face.

"I don't need him any more, he kept me alive, gave me food, but this…" The boy lifted up a coin pouch and flicked it up into the air, before deftly catching it and grinning at Altair, "…. This will treat me much better."

He gave one last smile before setting off at a run down the alleyway.

For a moment Altair was confused, but then he noticed the absence of his money pouch at his waist. The boy had stolen it! He was so stunned that he was unable to move for a few seconds, but then he finally recovered, and after cursing loudly, set off sprinting after the quick fingered boy.


	2. Chapter 2

The streets were crowded and it was impossible to see where the boy had gone. Usually he would be comfortable with the noisy groups of chattering innocents. After all, they hid him when he was being chased. But it was different now and he wasn't used to being the hunter.

He didn't like it.

His eyes continued to scan the street and just as he was considering giving up, after all he could always pickpocket the money back from others, he spotted the child. The boy was trying to pull himself onto a cart that was being unloaded by a large merchant. But he slipped in his struggle and ended up rolling on the dusty ground. Altair used this moment to catch up with the boy and soon was within three meters. The child spotted Altair however, and darted back to his feet, this time succeeding at jumping onto the cart. Once stable, he jumped upwards, fingers grasping the roof ledge above him, and pulled himself up quickly. Altair followed. The boy had made a mistake, perhaps on the street he would have had a chance, he would have been safe in the crowds of people walking from stall to stall, but on the rooftops he was at Altair's mercy. They were_ his_ domain. Altair was soon standing in front of the boy. A grin lit up the assassins face; yet it was not a grin of humour or happiness. It was the kind of grin a killer gives when he's about to slaughter his prey. And for a moment, Altair saw a flicker of fear cross the boy's face. But it was quickly replaced by that scowl of defiance that the Assassin was quickly beginning to resent.

"Hand the pouch back over fool, and I might let you live." He said darkly, his hand stretched towards the boy.

In reply, the boy grinned and darted under Altair's outstretched arm. The Assassin felt his waist tug for a moment, and turned in time to see the boy sprinting across the rooftops, with three of Altair's throwing knives in his hand. Altair let loose a cry of anger and stormed after the child, pulling free two throwing knives himself as he ran. He waited until he was close enough, and threw them at the child. They sailed past him as the boy darted to the side with ease.

_Fine,_ Altair thought, _I'll strangle him with my own bare hands then. _The boy was quick, but Altair was a trained Assassin and he had never let his target get away from him. It soon became clear that the boy was going to be caught. He watched as the boy freerunned up a wall and hopped over the top. The assassin was right on his heels. Thoughts of victory fuelled his body and he leaped over the wall, a cry forming on his lips, he rolled when he hit the ground and automatically placed himself in a fighting stance. His fists clenched and twitching.

But the boy was gone.

It took him a full minute to come to terms with it. He had failed. He had lost his target. Altair the great and feared assassin had failed. And the victory belonged to a street urchin! A boy incapable of anything but running around and stealing money!

He heard a small cough sound behind him; he spun round in fury, his hidden blade drawn. It was the boy. He was sat on the wall that moments ago, Altair had leaped across in glory, counting the coins in Altair's coin pouch. Altair was stunned. He felt his muscles go weak, then he retracted his hidden blade and stumbled towards the child.

" How?" He managed to whisper out, "How, did you beat me?"

The boy looked up from the pile of coins in his hand, and lifted an eyebrow at Altair's expression.

"How many have beaten you before?" The boy asked.

Altair blinked, "None. I am Altair Ibn-La'Ahad. No one beats me!"

The boy's grin widened. Then disappeared. A serious expression filled its place.

"Train me, train me to kill. Let me become your apprentice."

Altair frowned. No one had asked him this before. Recruiting new assassins was not his job, neither was training them. And yet, the boy showed promise. If he were to become the boy's master, he could teach him to become great. Become like Altair. And for a moment Altair considered saying yes, in fact, the word almost left his mouth. But there was a side of him. A side that wanted to shame the boy. The young child had beaten him, and he would have his revenge. He listened to that side. For it was Altair Ibn-La'Ahad that should be remembered in the centuries to come, not the street urchin with no name.

He walked slowly towards the boy. Staring into the boy's defiant eyes. Yes, he had potential. And for that reason he was dangerous to Altair. The assassin's hidden blade shot outwards with a hiss. And he saw the fear in the boy's eyes. He smiled. He would win after all.

The boy's hands slipped, and the coins fell to the ground, ignored. Shooting forward Altair clamped his hand down onto the boy's ankle and yanked, pulling him of the wall and on to the dusty rooftop. The boy struggled but Altair was far stronger and soon had the child pinned under him. He drew back his arm.

The Creed. _Stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent_. He could not kill the boy. And yet... was the child innocent? There was no way to know. But it would be easy enough to tell his brothers that the boy was on the templars side and therefore, _had_ to be killed. But that was not his way. In his mind however, lingered one single thought, _He beat me._ He lowered his arm and looked at the boy fully for the first time. He had short black hair framing a grubby and thin face which contrasted with the boy's slightly squashed nose. But his most outstanding features were his eyes. Almost black, they held such anger in them. The boy must die. And yet Altair could not be the one to kill him. Once again he retracted his blade.

He would remember the boy's face. Should he see it again, he would kill the boy, no hesitations. No one beats Altair.

He stood up from the ground. The boy frowned. "Is that a yes?" He asked, hesitantly, still wary of the Assassin.

" No."

The boy scrambled up, kicking up dirt and dust.

"How can you say no? I'm better than you. I beat you!" He shouted.

The Assassin darted forward, pushing the boy up against the wall, "You would do well not to remind me of that fact."

The boy was breathing heavily. His face agonised. Altair let go and the boy slumped against the wall. He turned to go, but a thought stopped him, So before jumping down onto the street below, he asked the boy," What is your name?"

The boy shrugged.

"I have no name . But remember this Assassin, one day, I will show you. I will show you, and I will beat you. Again."

The Assassin snarled at the nameless boy . Then, jumping forward on to the street below, blended into the crowd of innocents . He realized then that the boy still had his throwing knives, and he spun quickly, exspecting them to come flying towards him. But they didn't. The boy had once again disapeared.

Yes, he would remember that face.


	3. Chapter 3

5 YEARS LATER

Ashiran watched the city. It was these streets on which he had been forced to learn how to survive on his own. And so he knew them well. The night was coming, and the sun had turned a deep orange colour, sending streaks of red across the clouded sky. Below him, the people of Damascus hurried home before the darkness fell and the drunks and thieves woke. Over the years, the scum of the city had grown and like a plague had spread across even the richest areas of Damascus. As he watched, beggars grabbed onto the legs of passer-by's, moaning and pleading for scraps. The men and women who were being harassed by them simply pulled away, ignoring the anguished cry's as they quickened their pace. The was soon empty for all but the beggars and a few men.

Ashiran stared on as a certain man, middle-class by the looks of his clothes, with his arms full of food for his family, was circled by a group of the beggars. They're hands grasped for the food, groans escaping from hungry mouths. The man looked around him in horror.

" G…g…g…get away from me!" He stuttered, his hands clasping the food tightly to his chest. But still they crept closer. He was saved by the guards. One of them walked towards the group, "Alright, that's enough of that, you filthy pigs." He called out to them, disgust plain on his face. Most of the beggars had the sense to back away, but one child, around the age of nine, tried one last grab for the food. His hand shot out and clamped on a small loaf of bread. But before he could scamper of with his prize, the guard grabbed the child by his hair and dragged him back over to where the rest of the guards stood, laughing at the boy's feeble attempts to break away.

The man used his opportunity to run away, his hands still clasped to his chest with the bundle of food. The beggars however, simply backed away, creeping back into alleyways and shadows, not wanting to witness the cruelty to come.

The boy was still struggling, much to the guards humour. One guard, a young man with a beard, stepped in front of the boy and drew his sword. He smiled cruelly.

"Looks like we've caught you, you thieving rat. But don't worry, we won't kill you. No, we are to kind for that," He laughed cruelly, his friends echoing him." But we can't just set you free to thieve again little rat. No. We can't do that."

The guard stepped forward and placed his sword at the boy's neck. He grinned as the boy whimpered quietly. Ashiran frowned, from his vantage point at the top of a tall building looking over the street he could see the scene perfectly. Six guards in total, including the one standing with his sword at the boy's throat. He should be able to take them. He made up his mind and slowly began to scale down the building. Then he dropped silently to the ground for the last few meters, landing behind the guards. They didn't notice him sneaking closer. They didn't hear him draw his knife.

Meanwhile, the guard was still entertaining his friends.

"So we can't take his head. But maybe we could take his hand. Maybe we could take both his hands. So that he can't go stealing anymore food from innocent men."

Once more the guards laughed. The bearded one pulled the boy's arm towards him and pinned in to the ground, trapping the boy's wrist under his boot.

"Perhaps we should take a foot as…"

Ashiran whistled sharply, causing the guards to spin round hands on sword hilts. They almost laughed when they saw him. A young man, probably only fifteen, with a sharp scowl and a small knife clutched in his grip, his clothes were clean at least, but they were not the finery of the rich, simply a black tunic, tied around the waist with a thick leather belt, and brown pants - that appeared to be to short for him. He wasn't even wearing boots.

And yet, there was fierceness to him. And a look of fury in his eyes. The boy stepped forwards slowly, and the guards drew their weapons. The bearded guard was about to make a cutting remark when the boy suddenly shot forwards, grabbing the guard nearest to him and slitting his throat in a spray of crimson.

_5_

They all attacked at once. Ashiran ducked under one mans blade, then spun round and with his elbow pushed the man forwards, causing him to lose balance, before he could drive the dagger into the mans back however, he was forced to deflect an attack from another guard. The man who had lost his balance however managed to crash into another guard, and the two of them fell to the floor, tangled.

He used this chance and dodging an attack from the bearded guard, drove his dagger into one of the mans chest.

_4_

He didn't have time to kill the other however as yet another attack flew towards him, he only just managed to dodge it though , and even as he spun back round to face the guards, he felt blood trickle down his left arm. He stood still for one moment, catching his breath back, then once again struck forward, striking the bearded guard in the head, slashing his face, it was messy and didn't kill him, but the man stumbled backwards, blood pouring. Then, dropping his sword on his way, fell to the ground.

Ashiran grasped the fallen sword eagerly, thankful for a more defensive weapon. He faced the remaining guards. One, a man with only one ear and a long scar reaching from his cheekbone to chin, swung his sword viciously at Ashiran, but the attack held no skill and the boy easily counterattacked, driving his sword deep into the mans chest.

_3_

Pulling the sword free Ashiran quickly spun, attacking the next guard, this time slashing the mans arm and neck in a sudden flurry of steel. He fell, dead.

_2_

The guard facing him was the only one that hadn't already tried to attack him, he had hung back instead, waiting for the other guards to either weaken him or finish him.

Ashiran feinted right, and as the guard moved to block the attack, pulled out his dagger with his left hand. And then, in one fluid movement, he punched it into the guard's neck.

_1 _

Ashiran let the body fall to the ground. A smile formed on his lips as he turned to his final opponent, the bearded man, who was rolling on the floor in agony. He stepped forwards towards the man. Then a thought occurred to him, _where was the child?_

He looked around him, but the boy had left, probably horrified at the murder he had seen. Shrugging to himself he turned back to the guard, who was trying to crawl away while Ashiran's back was turned. Anger washed over him. This was a man who was prepared to cripple a child simply for stealing bread. A monster. He deserved to be punished.

Ashiran glared down at the man at his feet, watching as the guards hand crept towards a discarded sword that lay near Ashiran's feet. The boy's foot moved quickly to stamp down on the man's wrist. His eyes narrowed. He knew what punishment the guard deserved. Year's ago, when the Assassin had rejected him, he had promised to himself that he would learn to be a killer. That he would learn to be ruthless. So that one day, he would beat the assassin Altair once more. Ashiran glanced down at the bodies around him. He was a killer certainly. And he was ruthless.

He pushed down on the man's wrist even harder and with a grim smile drew back his sword…


	4. Chapter 4

Altair's ears struggled to hear the conversation of the guards. Even an Assassin had limits. So, grudgingly, he left his place on the bench and stalked closer, taking care to look as if he was browsing the stalls. He stole a quick look at the two men, both in red gambesons, who were standing near a fountain in the middle of the square. They were both looking bored and were likely to spill secrets during their long shift. He was gathering information on his latest target, usually he would have others do such a thing for him, but lately a spy had been uncovered within the brotherhood, and Altair, never a trusting man in the first place, decided to take the work on himself, incase another templar spy was still hidden in their midst.

He was close enough to hear them now and so took a chose a spot against the back of a stall from where he could both watch and listen.

"…. The man was ten feet tall he said, and strong as an ox," The first man said to the other, Altair frowned, who was this man? He had heard no such rumours as this, it must be recent.

The second man snorted, "That's just Haskin talking, No man is that tall… not in Damascus anyway. Doesn't like the fact of his men being beaten by a 5 foot tall drunkard, which is what the killer probably was."

The first man frowned at his words, "Don't matter though does it, whoever that man was, he killed 5 men."

"I wonder how Haskin survived, probably scampered off as soon as the first man fell. Being the coward he is."

"Haskin was mutilated though, so the man must have caught him in the end."

The second guard frowned, "Mutilated? You saw him?"

"No, but I heard this all from a friend who did. Said that Haskin had had both his hands removed, hacked off. And his face was a mess to, slashed right across the middle, _and_ one of his feet had been chopped clean off. Luckily a another patrol passed by and the doctor managed to save him, and when Haskin woke, he told everyone what had happened, saying that the man had only let him live so that he could bring a message to the guards."

The second guard leaned closer, a look of horror on his face," What was the message?"

"That Ashiran was coming."

Altair was confused, he had never heard of anyone called _Ashiran. _Clearly the guards hadn't either.

"Ashiran?" The second asked.

The first guard nodded, and then turned back to watching the crowds of people busily walking from stall to stall. It was clear Altair would hear nothing of his target from these guards. He needed to search for another source. Gazing upwards he spotted a tower close by. He was there in minutes. Barely even breathing heavily. It was a slanted roof and so he had to focus not to slip and fall over the edge. A handy ledge was overhanging the drop on one side, and, crouching low, the master Assassin walked to the edge of it. He gazed from his perch, searching for somewhere from which he could gather more information on his target. He spotted a red gambeson in the distance. Another guard. He memorized the location. After doing that he looked downwards and smiled as he saw a haystack below him. It never failed to amaze him that every time he needed to jump from a high building, there was always a convenient haystack below him. Perhaps one day he would find out why. But for today, he was just glad for a soft landing. Standing upright and taking a deep breath, he launched himself from the tower.


	5. Chapter 5

Thank you everyone for reviewing, I'm sorry for not updating sooner but… ok, I have no excuse, sorry again. Hope you enjoy….

* * *

Ashiran paused from running and ducked into a shadowed doorway. His hands were shaking violently and sweat gathered on his forehead, even though the night was cold. With his breath coming in ragged gasps, he reached into a pouch at his side and pulled out a single, small leaf. _His last one._

He should be able to last the night on one. Then he could visit Azab in the morning and get more. Placing it under his tongue and taking deep breaths, he immediately began to calm. His hands stopped shaking and he began to cool. For a moment he felt ashamed of himself, the young nameless boy he used to be would never have resorted to such a method, but he was no longer nameless. He was Ashiran. And though he hated to admit it, even he had a weakness. He felt his hand reaching towards the pouch at his side. He wished he had more, and then he could have fought the guards off, instead of just running away. But this night he would not kill, not any more anyway.

He felt anticipation build up inside him. Surely the Assassin had heard of his name by now. He just needed to realize that Ashiran was the boy who had beaten him. Ashiran knew just how to show him. But now was not the time. Now, he needed to get to safety before the guards caught him. He had killed three guards just minutes ago, but it was impossible to catch someone who knew these streets better than you. And Ashiran knew them better than anyone. This knowledge helped him beat the Assassin all those years ago.

He heard shouts coming closer, so he set off running once again. The leaf had helped, and once again he felt invincible. If this was his one weakness, then he really was invincible. Even as he ran he felt a smile forming on his face. And a burst of laughter slipped from his lips. It had that effect on him sometimes.

* * *

"Congratulations my friend, you are no longer the most feared man in the holy land," A voice announced.

Altair frowned, his eyes narrowing.

"Malak?"

"Yes, Altair?"

Altair got up from his seat atop the wall of the fortress and turned towards Malak.

"Explain, and do it quickly."

Altair had just returned from his last job, in fact he was due to visit Al Mualim and tell him of his success. But instead he had found solitude and, pleased to be away from the busy streets of Masyaf, had stayed for a while. But then Malak had interrupted the silence.

Malak shifted slightly, taking a small step away from Altair. The great Assassin frowned, whatever it was, it was clearly going to get him angry.

"It is not your name that is whispered on the streets of the cities in fear anymore my friend, but the killer Ashiran's. He strikes almost every night, killing all but one, who he mutilates and leaves a message…"

"_Ashiran is coming_." Altair finished off, his voice strained.

Malak nodded. Then, seeing Altair's temper rising, he quickly left the fortress wall. The assassin had a way of throwing things at people when he grew angry, usually knives.


End file.
